


the anatomy of melancholy

by ansonwish



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Character Study, Delusions, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Pre-Canon, Psychosis, Relationship Study, Unhappy Ending, also he is gay and that is Final, compulsory heterosexuality at work yet again, henry has one hundred thousand regrets and is having a bad life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansonwish/pseuds/ansonwish
Summary: it was hard being alone for as long as he had been. he had been isolated for almost twenty years, prepping for even longer. he went from the hustle and bustle of an overcrowded house full of rowdy college boys to silence. he wasn't quite sure which was louder.henry hidgens wishes he could realize things before they're gone.





	the anatomy of melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> this is a study into henry's various relationships over the course of his life, and the way his life ends up panning out when he starts prepping for the apocalypse.
> 
> disclaimer: i strongly view henry as psychotic, and i write his experiences based entirely off of my own with my psychosis. i apologize if it isn't perfectly accurate; it's all based on how i live with it so it may not encapsulate the general experience perfectly.

> I. Greg

Henry is fifteen, and his dad is proud of him for getting his first girlfriend. She's almost as tall as him, with red curls and long cross country runners legs and a smile that could light up a city in a blackout. 

It's very hard for him to admit that she isn't his type. No, he won't admit to wanting to cry when he felt absolutely nothing for her except the illusion of pride. And he's not even proud of her, not really, he’s just proud that he’s got the best runner at Hatchetfield High as his companion because she keeps the guys who always pick on him at bay. And what does it say about him that he needed someone to do that for him?

There's something a little funny and a lot painful about playing games of deception with the whole world. Henry has been playing this game to make the whole world content. And it's particularly funny to him because he thinks he's been playing it a lot longer than he's had her around. 

“You know,” Greg smacks Henry’s arm with a Twizzler, pulling him out of whatever his brain had gotten lost in this time. It's not exactly his fault, the way his brain trips over itself to get another thought out. “These taste like soap.”

“And yet you buy a pack twice a week.” Henry pulls the Twizzler he was hit with out of Greg’s hand and bites into it. Maybe it's just that the imagery is fresh in his mind, but it tastes like he's biting into his mother’s ornate barred hand soap that she doesn't let anybody touch. “Gross. I thought I liked these.”

“You thought you liked orange soda last week too, and then you threw up after two mouthfuls, man.” Greg laughs and bites another candy. 

“Only because someone convinced me to drink wine before I drank the soda. I didn't know I couldn't hold my alcohol; I’ve never drank before.” It was not one of Henry’s finest moments, but he's never been the most distinguished type of person. 

“Okay, asshole, you drank most of it.” That makes Henry’s skin heat up. He knew he was only at Greg’s place that day because Greg could see Henry’s bad days before they even happened, and when they happened, he tended to make regrettable choices. He wasn't wasted or anything, but he certainly wasn't ready to handle drinking the majority of a bottle of stuff that tasted cheap and plasticky. Another fine regrettable choice, but at least he wasn't alone. He found that he could laugh about it more when he wasn't resigning himself to crying about it. 

“It wasn't the soda that made me sick is my point! But these might.” He waves the bitten end of his Twizzler and stupidly takes another bite. It's every bit as soapy as the last and he spits it out onto the grass. “Are these name-brand or did you buy a disgusting knock-off?”

“Oh, so I’m a bad influence and I’m cheap? Henry, you wound me.” Henry gives him a playful shove and Greg rocks in place. “I wanted to say something real, though. Figured I’d use these shit things as a set-up. How’re things with Erica, man? You never tell me about her.”

“Eliza.” Henry says. He feels like Greg’s being far too nosy about a girl whose name he doesn't know. “Fine, I guess. We went to homecoming, I didn't puke on her like I thought I would.”

“Did she kiss you? Or do you leave your ladies hanging?” Henry winces at the way he speaks. It wasn't much of a shock that Henry managed to get a girlfriend before Greg, even if he didn't exactly want said girlfriend as much as he thought. The idea was more appealing than the execution.

“I don't do anything with ladies, Greg, I’m—” He realizes this is poor word choice the minute it's out of his mouth. This is a conversation he hasn't even had with himself, in his bedroom mirror, when his brain runs a million miles a minute and he's convinced the sounds in his head are creatures that are listening in when he talks to himself. He can't make a good impression when he keeps running. “I want to break up with her. I don't like her like I thought I did.”

“Been there, man.” Greg says through a valiant attempt at fitting two Twizzlers in his mouth at once. Henry knows he most certainly has not been there. Always boasting about relationships he hasn't had. “I thought she’d be your type. She's tall, she's big on that science shit you like, and her legs, man. They're really something.”

It's a comprehensive list of things that do not sway Henry’s opinion. If he's anything, he's decisive. “She's always busy with track and basketball. And besides, she's just with me because she likes punching the people who bully me. If I wanted a bodyguard, I’d go out and rent one. It would be less embarrassing.” 

“Do you rent bodyguards? Or can you buy one to own?” Greg asks, as if that's the important part of what Henry had said.

“I don't know. Why would I know anything about the particulars of having a bodyguard?” 

“Just thinking I could buy you one for your birthday, is all.” If Henry’s always pushing, Greg is pulling, and it boggles his mind why they've been friends for this long. “If you're not happy, dump her, dude. There's ladies everywhere that should tickle your fancy. Just gotta find the right one.”

Henry bites into his Twizzler one more time, looking for a distraction, of any sort. It's always being pushed at him. The girl of his dreams being out there, somewhere, he just doesn't know where. Sweet almighty Christ, if it doesn't make him want to off himself more than he normally wants to. His brain is bouncing back and forth.

“And, buddy, when you do let her down easy, if she needs a shoulder to cry on, you put my name out there, y’know?” 

“I don't trust you with her.” Henry pulls another Twizzler from the bag and bites it. It erupts with flavour on his tongue, the sweetness of artificial strawberry. Maybe he could pull something good out of this after all.

> II. Steve

Henry feels free when summer comes around. It was always his favourite time of year. School had always been stifling, and he’d been given enough bloody noses and bruises to last him a lifetime.

It's his final summer as a high school student, which is even better. He's delighted at the prospect of finally being out of Hatchetfield, even just for a little while. He wouldn't mind coming back, of course. But if he just went across the bridge to Clivesdale for a few years, he might actually find he missed Hatchetfield enough to want to come home.

Henry had always been sort of reclusive because he's always been incredibly paranoid. He spends his summer indoors, watching his favourite movies and rereading his favourite books. He already picked out a sizeable stack of books he hadn't read since last summer that he wanted to get a head start on. Staying inside, relaxing, only going out when Greg starts pitching rocks at his window was the most ideal way for him to spend a sweltering summer. 

The world makes choices for Henry, which he isn't quite sure he likes. It's so obvious that the world has plans for everybody that they don't get a say in. Henry isn't so fond of feeling like something is constantly supervising him, in lampposts and headlights and store windows, and making choices for him. It's the sort of thinking that makes him as reclusive as he is. 

The world made a good choice for Henry, just once. Greg introduced him to Steve, who was tall with sandy hair and tan skin and strong arms. Henry isn't ashamed to say how smitten he was after just one conversation. It was a lot to process. Henry had never had a real crush in his life, and on a boy, no less. It was something that you didn't really talk about. It was a risk. More cannon fodder for the guys who liked to grind his face into the gravel.

Steve is kind. He’s got a lot in common with Greg, but he's not as brash about it. Maybe Greg is just a bad influence. Steve likes to listen to Henry when he talks about his books, and sometimes Steve even asks questions. He allows Henry to ramble, which makes Henry’s heart beat hard in his chest. 

It's a little bit stupid when Henry actually kisses him because his thought process does sixty-seven backflips in a minute before he even chooses to do it. He thinks about George Orwell, of dystopia. He thinks about the world burning, humanity being destroyed. He thinks about science fiction. He thinks about watching the second season of Star Trek again. He thinks about watching it with Steve, and suddenly he's thinking about Steve all over again. And when he thinks about Steve, he makes a really stupid choice that's probably going to get him beaten up. 

Steve, surprisingly enough, doesn't beat the shit out of him. Henry's paranoid of new things every day. He can't convince himself that Steve’s above beating him up. Logically he knows better, but logic doesn't apply here, and he's scared out of his wits. Steve doesn't really do anything. He doesn't seem to kiss back, but Henry’s only been kissed once so he really doesn't have a basis of what it's supposed to feel like. 

“I’m sorry.” Henry says when he pulls away far too quickly. It's instantaneous regret, and he's making eye contact with the clippings from books and newspapers on his wall. He feels like he’s being judged by them. Now his brain starts working, stressing him out, his hands tremble.

“Ain’t gotta apologize, Henry.” Steve’s voice is so tender. It soothes some of the worry that Henry has, but he's still absolutely ready to get punched. It feels like it’s the right answer. “Didn't know you liked me like that.”

“I didn't either. Not until recently. I understand if you want to leave.” Henry's visibly shaking now, more than aware that he looks like a wreck. He's just lucky he hasn't started crying. Normally that's his first response, but aside from guilt, he feels nothing, really. 

“Nah, nah, it's all good. Not mad at you or anything, man.” Steve sets a hand on top of one of Henry’s, still trembling under warm touch. “You’re really somethin’, you know that? Takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there.”

“I’m glad you think so. I feel sort of dumb. Like I crossed a line. I don't do this with all of my friends, you know.” Henry turns his palm so he can properly hold Steve’s hand. 

“Maybe you don't have to. I mean, with your friends. You can do that again, just— we don't have to be friends.” Steve doesn't sound like he knows what he wants to say any more than Henry does. But if he's saying what Henry thinks he's saying, Henry worries his brain’s going to just stop working. 

“Are you— Steve, I believe it's more than obvious I’d love to date you. As long as that's what you're asking. I’m not trying to be presumptuous.” Henry feels Steve give his hand a squeeze, and it drags him back down before he can get too wrapped up in overthinking the situation.

“‘S what I’m askin’, Henry. I like you a whole bunch. Jesus, that sounded stupid.” Steve chuckles and Henry’s face heats up. “I’m not so good with words. Can I kiss you again? Then we’ll see how this goes.”

“Of course! Of course, sorry. I’d like that.” He feels like he's not being subtle anymore with his eager voice, but then he remembers how he practically flung himself at Steve and knows that he hasn't been very good at subtlety the entire time. 

Henry doesn't push this time. He allows Steve to have some breathing room, and he kisses him again with less impulse. Henry gives Steve’s hand a squeeze in return from earlier, more for his own benefit than Steve’s. It reminds him that he's real, that the world is real, and for once, he loves every choice the world makes for him.

> III. Leighton

It's a bit of a stroke of luck when he meets Leighton, soft, rounded edges and a kind heart. He's got a competitive sort of spirit, like all the boys he knows, but that's all the more thrilling to Henry. He considers it lucky how much they have in common. Greg brings Leighton back to the house, wanting to indoctrinate him to the new living situation. Henry feels like they're just gaining roommates for the sake of having them. They're awful lucky they got an extremely good deal on the shitty little three bedroom place because of how shitty it was. 

It never felt cramped. It felt like home, even with three other roommates. Nobody was quite ready to take the couch, so Henry offered to split his room with Leighton. He ended up with the biggest bedroom when they bought the house. And he did actually want to get to know his newest roommate a little better, so he was more than happy to let Leighton throw his mattress into the corner and actually have a room. 

At first, Leighton doesn't have all that much to say to anyone. He keeps to himself, speaks when spoken to, but doesn't tend to make conversation. Henry had never been a stellar conversationalist, so his and Leighton’s time together gets a little awkward sometimes. He doesn't pry with his new roommate, mostly because he hates to be pried at and wants to extend that courtesy to him. But he watches Leighton progress, slowly starting to open up. He tends to drink the most out of anyone in the house, and even with a little liquor in his system, he talks to anyone who’ll listen. Artificial confidence, Henry assumes.

When the day comes that Leighton actually wants to have a discussion with Henry, he's pleasantly surprised. The house is empty save for the two of them — Greg and Steve out restocking the house with groceries. Leighton says that he has something very important he wants to talk about. Henry doesn't know why Leighton was being so serious about it, but he figured if he wasn't going to dance around how serious it was, it was only fair that Henry listen to him. 

Leighton explains his situation through half a bottle of wine, sprawled in Henry's desk chair in a position that looks very uncomfortable. Henry’s sitting on his mattress. He’s still not in possession of any bed frame yet so it rests on the wood floor. Leighton says that he had a little summer fling that spawned into a fall fling. Henry knows where Leighton’s story is headed before it gets there. 

Neither one of them are ready for romance again. Henry and Steve ended as amicably as two people could end a relationship. Hell, they were still living under the same roof, still waking up at five in the morning to make weak coffee and watch the sun come up over the houses that were in no better shape than their own. Leighton and his ex girlfriend had ended things rather awkwardly. They didn't talk anymore, and they shared a class, so they made unfortunate eye contact and tried to pretend the other didn't exist. 

“It's like this,” Leighton sets the bottle down on the floor, out of Henry’s reach and slumps back against the desk chair. “I don't want to date her, and she definitely doesn't want to date me, because she dumped me. But I have to see her everyday. I need a grace period where I don't have to look at her all the time. You get what I mean?”

Henry certainly didn't. And maybe that was just that his and Steve’s prior friendship had counted too much, and Steve was definitely not about to move out of the best living arrangement he could set up. Neither was Henry, so they made it work. He never had an awkward period with an ex, scarce as his exes were.

“I guess so? Okay, not exactly, but I can picture it.” Henry moves back on his bed, pressing his back against the wall, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. It's always been a good way to ground himself. “So why are you talking to me? I’m not exactly known for my relationship advice or anything.”

As it turns out, Leighton wasn't really looking for relationship advice. Or a relationship. Or anything. Henry had never been someone’s catharsis before. Leighton makes the first move, obviously, because Henry isn't about to come onto a guy who's been waxing all sadly about his past relationship like he's talking to his therapist. Henry hadn't been kissed in months, so it's very odd yet welcomed all at the same time. 

Leighton is all soft hands and kisses like questions that pine for answers. It's sort of nice, Henry thinks when his brain allows his thought process to settle on the situation at hand. Of course he gives Leighton the answers he's looking for. Really, even if they’d known each other the least, it felt nicer this way. Nothing serious to invest in. And here Henry was thinking he had his heart set on love. 

Sometimes you need the illusion of love more than you need love itself. Henry feels like he's been playing a game for a very long time; fooling himself with how ideal romance is when it is all hypothetical. Maybe he just needs a break. As friendly as he and Steve had been, still the same friends they were before, there had been something missing. That, Henry thinks, may have been Leighton seeking out some sort of filler for the gap left behind from his own failed love life. 

It's becomes a regular occurrence, but it's one that Henry looks forward to. No strings, no commitments, no love. It's just sex, and that's fine. He doesn't ask for much anymore. Just whatever Leighton has to offer, whatever he's able to give. It's sort of weird when Leighton calls him Anna and when he has to hold him afterwards so he doesn't cry. He thinks that maybe Leighton underestimated just how hung up on his ex he was. 

But it's all whatever. It's the illusion of love that really matters in the end. It just kind of is. They don't hold hands and they don't cuddle, but they screw around and get wasted and Leighton lays his head on Henry’s shoulder and cries into his sweater sometimes. Maybe that was all they really needed. Maybe it's just enough.

> IV. Stu

“You’re gonna fall, dumbass!” Greg yells from the kitchen through a mouthful of cereal. Leighton and his scrawny arms are trying hard to hold a ladder still while Mark tries to string lights around the curtain rod. 

The holiday season in the house was not a tradition so much as it was a chance for the guys to yell at each other as much as they could. It's their second winter in the house, and nobody knows how to decorate. Mark got sent a metric ton of Christmas lights from his dad, so it was an ordeal and a half to figure out where to put them. Nobody in the house really had an eye for stuff like that. 

They bought really shit decorations from a dollar store and an even shittier tree that stood a whopping three feet tall and could barely hold up the star on top without drooping. Nobody had gotten started on wrapping any gifts yet, so the only thing under the tree was some fallen plastic pine needles. 

“I’m fine where I am! I’ve almost got it!” Mark yells back, giving the light strand a valiant throw and watching as it winds itself around the curtain rod. He gives a joyous shout and rocks the ladder by accident, making Leighton squeak and readjust his grip on the legs so he doesn't tip over. Mark scales back down the ladder and Leighton finally breathes, letting out a relieved sigh once Mark is firmly on the floor.

“You can always ask for help, y’know?” Steve says from his spot on the floor where he’s attaching purple and blue ornaments to the tiny tree. “I mean, ain’t like I’m doin’ anything that can't wait a sec.”

“Leigh’s too proud, you know that.” Greg drops the empty cereal bowl in the sink, content that it wasn't his night to do the dishes. “If he was drowning, he’d want to figure it out himself rather than ask one of us to throw him a lifesaver.”

“Hey!” Leighton calls, putting on an overdramatic pout. His arms cross and he even petulantly stomps his foot. Mark just ruffles his hair and gives a soft laugh. 

Henry chuckles at the sight of his friends, relaxing back into the couch, pulling his legs up off the cold floor. He practically lives inside the hand-me-down sweater with the large letter H knit into the front. It's two sizes too big because it was his father's old sweater that he never really wore. It was sort of a Christmas present, but he feels like his mom and dad just sent it to him so it would stop taking up space in their closet. 

“Come on, guys, let's not fight right now.” Stu says as he makes his way downstairs. Henry chuckles thinking about Stu hearing the other guys’ spirited conversations as Mark and Leighton struggled with a flimsy ladder.

At least the house looked good. The outside was all lit up already, bright colourful strands of lights wound around the pillars and railings. It was pretty crappy compared to their next door neighbour, who had a plastic Santa Claus and reindeer as well as about ten thousand more lights than the boys did. But they doubted the neighbours were lighting up the inside of their house too. Ambiance, Mark called it, but everyone knew it just meant he had too many lights and not enough places to put them. 

Stu takes a seat on the couch, spreading his arms across the back. Henry looks over at him and offers a little smile. Stu was not new to the house, but they hadn't spoken as much as Henry had wanted. They, along with Steve, were the earliest risers of the whole house, and tended to have some pretty engaging debates over breakfast. Stu always read the paper and reported the news of the times to whoever was listening, usually Henry and sometimes Steve when he was actually in the house and not camped out on the porch drinking coffee. 

“Who’s on dish duty tonight?” Greg calls from the kitchen as a glass clangs into the sink. It was a wonder they had dishes at all with the way he handled them. 

“Me!” Henry calls back. He's bought a new set of rubber gloves in preparation since someone in the house— he assumes Greg— used them when they cleaned the bathroom and Henry refused to touch them again. 

“Nice, nice.” Greg steps into the living room with the others, and his eyes sweep the room. Mark and Leighton are passing around another strand of lights, wondering where to put them this time. Mark suggests winding them around the stair rail. Steve drops a bulb on the ground and, thank God for good old plastic, it doesn't break. And Stu and Henry are awfully cozy on the couch, wrapped up in sweaters and thick socks. And then he sees it dangling above the couch. “Hey, Henry, Stu, man, did you guys check out what's above your heads?”

“Hm?” Stu says, and both men sitting on the couch send their attention upward. Hanging from a little hook is a cheap artificial mistletoe, dangling between the pair of them. “Oh. Who put that there?”

“Shit, sorry, me.” Steve said. All eyes in the room turn to him. “What? I figured since we’re gonna host a Christmas shindig, we should have a little kissin’ booth, except you don't have to pay for it.”

“Who said anything about hosting a shindig?” Henry asks, not knowing when they all got volunteered to be party hosts.

“I promised Sheila and Monica that I’d throw a party here for Christmas eve. Just me tryin’ to put our names out there as the fun guys.” That was horseshit and everyone knew it. Steve had his eyes on Monica for months, and probably considered a Christmas party as just another way to impress her. “But, y’know, mistletoe rules are mistletoe rules, and you two are under it. Eh, whatcha say, boys?”

Henry feels his face burn when he turns to face Stu; he's sure everyone in the room can see it too. Eyes have all been shifted to look at them, wicked smiles and patient expressions. It's a wonder they haven't started chanting or anything. 

“I—uh,” Henry makes very unfortunate eye contact with Stu, who’s got the softest smile he's ever seen pulling at his mouth and, Christ Almighty, Henry feels like he could melt. “You’re okay with this?”

“Are you?” Stu asks.

“Yeah! Of course.” Henry sounds very brash, which is unexpected. Mentally preparing himself is doing wonders for his self esteem.

Stu moves in closer, but Henry goes still, and there's a loud sound of anticipation in the room in the form of a sharp inhale. Henry figures he might as well do it, and pushes himself forwards to close the gap. He's a very good kisser, he's not rushing anything, not pushing for anything more, and it's over before Henry knows it. He blinks languidly a few times and smiles. 

“Atta be, boys! Spirit of Christmas, hallelujah.” Steve claps his hands together and turns back to the tree, where he drops another bauble on the floor. Activity seems to resume like normal, Mark and Leighton head for the staircase with a strand of lights, and Greg takes a seat in the recliner, popping the footstool up. 

Henry gives a very girlish giggle at everything that just happened, which makes the rest of the boys laugh at his expense, which makes him very red in the face again. There's a part of him that wants to retreat inside the oversized sweater and not come out. He feels Stu’s hand on his shoulder, he gives him a light squeeze, and Henry thinks that he's happy exactly where he is.

> V. Chad

The dreams started when he was twelve years old, and he always attributed them to just nightmares he had when he went to bed after eating too much strawberry ice cream and watching scary movies. He had visions, vivid and terrifying that had him waking up tangled in his sheets with cold sweat breaking out across his face. 

It was not like he was unfamiliar with the end of the world. He saw it all the time in the movies and books he read. The world-ending cataclysm that would take down humanity felt sort of inevitable, but he always thought it would be a billion or more years before that happened. 

Now he’s having dreams constantly, which makes him an absolute mess to have to share a room with. He sees a man, with short grey hair and the same monotonous wardrobe he always had and a house in a little town secured tightly. Since this man was a consistent figure in his dreams, Henry could only assume this was going to be him in a few decades. He hated how he always seemed to be alone in his dreams. 

He sees a lot of different things. He sees meteors, burning hot and powerful, rocketing into the Earth and wiping out humanity. He sees arguments between nations overflowing and the world being hit with the worst nuclear war it has ever seen. He sees figures in the street, greying and rotting, shambling around, grabbing and biting and infecting. It's all different takes on the same premise. 

Henry wonders if he should take up reading romance novels and try to distance himself from horror and science fiction. At least he didn't have to worry about the end of the world in those. 

When the dreams come, Henry doesn't talk about it. He keeps it all bottled up, because he knows that he’ll get told that they're just dreams after all. He's no psychic, he's just a guy who watches too many movies and has too many fears about the real world. 

It's pretty simple to manage, for the most part. Nobody needs to know about his dreams, and when he wakes the house up screaming, he can just say he had a bad dream and move on. He can survive tossing and turning and sweating and falling off of his mattress, but he always worries about how much of his bullshit his roommates can put up with. He worries when he sits at dinner, thinking about the newest world-ending situation he's dreamed up, and he notices Chad staring. He convinces himself that Chad can hear him, so he blocks that out with thoughts of how mediocre the food is. 

The house works on a dozen different rotation systems. With seven guys living under one roof, it checks out really well when it comes to who does dishes every night. They go in groups of two or sometimes three, sometimes up to five every other week to do groceries. Mark always says it's easier to shop with the majority of the house with them. When winter comes around, they work in pairs to shovel the driveway. When it's time to do laundry, they don't have a system. They have a 24 hour laundromat down the street with a dozen machines and nobody there after nine, so they all go at once, and then pop over to the convenience store across the street while their stuff washes. 

The newest rotation system came into place after Chad moved in. It was pretty easy to comfortable fit six mattresses with no frames into the three large bedrooms, but with a seventh roommate, someone had to actually take the couch. Leighton and Stu work together to manage the dozen different systems they have written out and pinned to a corkboard in the living room. The bed system became a way for everyone to share their rooms and everyone having a turn to sleep on the couch once a week instead of making Chad sleep downstairs all year. 

Henry sleeps downstairs on Wednesdays and he’s grateful for those Wednesdays because he doesn't risk waking anybody up when he tosses and eventually hits the floor. Chad gets the couch on Thursdays, so they trade places. Henry drags his pillow and blanket back upstairs to his bed, passes Chad on the way upstairs, and notices how he changes his thought process when he sees him coming. 

When a scream wakes up the house, Henry finds it perplexing that it isn't his own for once. Greg lets out a loud cuss, and Henry informs the house that it wasn't him. It came from downstairs on a Thursday night. He offers to go check it out, which the rest of the house gives their sleepy thanks for.

Chad sits upright on the couch, curled up in his blanket like he wants to hide in it. Henry sees the lamp on as he comes down the stairs, still pulling on his robe. He ties the string around his waist, catching the moment when Chad’s head whips around to see him.

“Oh. Hey, Henry.” He says, pulling his blanket tighter around his already rather small frame. 

“Hi. I’m sorry to intrude, but we all heard you—”

“Scream? I know. I didn't think I’d woken anybody up though.”

Henry doesn't scoff, but he wants to. The rest of the guys had nerves like cats at night thanks to how often Henry had startled them awake. They all became light sleepers at his expense. “Everyone else is still sleeping. But I thought I’d come check things out. Are you okay?”

Chad sighs and shakes his head. “I don't really want to talk about it. It's just a bad dream, you know that.”

“I know it well. May I?” Henry points to the open spot on the couch beside Chad and he shrugs then nods. He sits down beside his friend, crossing his legs at the ankles, keeping his full attention on him. Eye contact had always been very hard for Henry to maintain, and he can't help the way his eyes dart to look at anything else in the room. “This doesn't happen to you a lot.”

“No, it doesn't. I haven't had bad dreams since I was sixteen. Not bad enough to make me scream in my sleep, anyway.” Chad shakes his head, but Henry catches how he loosens his grip on his blanket. “I’ll be fine. You know how it is.”

“I do. I don't like talking about my dreams either. I always worry that people are going to think I’m—”

“Crazy?” Henry nods. “I used to worry like that too. Used to get pretty bad ones — nightmares, I mean. Just constantly. Wasn't sleeping or anything. I felt like I was dying. But I didn't have anything to be afraid of. I don't have bad parents, nobody picked on me growing up, I only just started watching scary movies, man. I don't understand.” 

“Sometimes you just get them. I didn't have bad parents either. I was bullied a lot though. Not enough to warrant screaming in the middle of the night though. These things just happen to us. What counts is that we fight through them.” Henry feels like he’s waxing too poetic for someone who is exhausted and still mildly shaken from being woken up. 

“Yeah. You always just feel so— I don't know, off the deep end. But you're right, man, you're right. And I got people that’ll help me. I live with six great people. I got one of them helping me right now.”

“You do. I know best how deeply frightening a nightmare can be. If you ever need company, or you want to talk, you can always knock on my door. You understand?” Henry slings an arm over Chad’s shoulders, gentle as he tries to offer some comfort to him. Chad leans slightly to his right, allowing his head to rest on Henry’s shoulder. “You should try to get some more rest. I’ll stay with you, if you don't want to be alone. I know company can be helpful when these things happen.”

“Thanks, Henry. Nice to have someone who gets it.” Chad shifts in place, getting comfortable against the couch. Henry feels like he more than gets it. It's a much deeper worry than anything he's ever had. He doesn't feel so alone in the house. Maybe he should feel better about that.

It hardly matters to him that he doesn't feel alone. Chad doesn't feel alone. At least all the shit he puts the house through has some use. And when the guys wake up and find Chad and Henry sound asleep on the couch, Chad’s head on Henry’s shoulder, Henry’s arm keeping him close, they don't think to ask questions.

> VI. Alexa

The weight of the oncoming apocalypse is a lot for one man to carry on his shoulders. Henry has a lot of bad dreams. He spends his nights awake for the most part, double checking the doors and windows, making sure he turned the fences on. His paranoia keeps biting at his ankles like a dog. He had been driven to the brink so many years ago, and what did he have to show for his theories besides losing every license he’d ever worked for and becoming an isolated wreck in his home. 

There was always something bigger going on in the world. Henry knows he's searched every inch of his house, but he still panics over the idea of hidden cameras in the walls, in the television, in the ceilings. He covered the camera on his laptop and phone up, but nothing keeps out the worry that something, maybe something that exists beyond the realm of technology, is watching him.

So he makes a purchase one day, when he actually has to leave his house. He doesn't do it often. He hates looking at the outside world and despairing knowing that the strangers that pass by are so small and so unaware. He sets up the little Amazon Echo Dot up in his living room. Henry always had considered himself rather technologically advanced than the average man in his fifties. He was hardly an average man though. 

That little voice, a little chime that delighted him when he spoke to her, was very fascinating. Alexa had interested him from a purely scientific standpoint. The idea of the world being in possession of robots that could balance their calendars, adjust their lights and play their music had been something that had been a dream created in science fiction. In all the books and movies he loved. He didn't expect to live long enough to see it be real. True, Alexa wasn't a fully fledged robot who could walk around and make his tea or anything, but she was a handy little companion. 

It made him sort of sad that he never had anything going on, so he never had a calendar to inform her about or an alarm to set. He liked having her play the news for him in the morning, even if news stressed him out more than anything. He always sat waiting for the day that the news would start fueling out stories of oncoming nuclear war or aliens crashing down on Earth or the meteor he predicted in his college days. But while he heard other stories of the world he lived in slowly deteriorating, he heard nothing of armageddon. 

The world turned the same as it always had. Even with this unseen threat looming over every breathing soul that walked the Earth, it continued to turn like nothing was ever going to happen. Which seemed to alarm Henry more than it should have reasonably soothed him. 

It was hard being alone for as long as he had been. He had been isolated for almost twenty years, prepping for even longer. He went from the hustle and bustle of an overcrowded house full of rowdy college boys to silence. He wasn't quite sure which was louder. But he knew which one he loved most. Which he longed for most.

Working Boys is an idea that comes to him one day when he's watching Falsettos for what must be the two-hundredth time. Perhaps it is just impulse and exhaustion from watching grainy bootlegs and film adaptations that never truly measured up to the live show, but he thinks it's a brilliant idea. And he lived the most ideal life for a wanting protagonist.

Writing a biography was never part of his plans, mostly because he hates the idea of dwelling, thinking about himself for far too long, so he fictionalized certain aspects to distance himself from the protagonist who shares his name and the supporting cast who share the names of his old roommates. He composes songs, which he hasn't done in ages, and he writes dialogue that admittedly isn't very strong. But it's a first draft, it happens. He hates how he can't capture how their old conversations used to sound. How he used to sound. Who he was when he was in college is the most vivid his life has ever been, but he can't capture that again. 

Alexa plays the soft piano tunes he stores on his phone while he tries to write and rewrite his script. She's always been a strangely loyal companion, because she's not real, she's just a little box who answers quickly to Henry’s every whim. It's funny how attached he's grown to her. He thinks of that little box like a best friend. He wants to fucking cry when he realizes how alone that makes him sound. 

But Henry’s brain is busy, and it feeds him unhealthy thoughts and delusions. His Alexa is as sentient as they come is one that bites at his head. Of course, he tries to appease those thoughts the best he can. He doesn't talk much. He never used to. But she's listening, someone is listening, so he engages. He has full conversations with a machine that offers little rhythmic chimes. He keeps her, whoever may be listening, happy. 

She matters because she's real. Henry isn't quite ready to admit how lonely he is. She's always listening, so maybe life isn't as lonely as he initially predicted.

> VII. Greg and Stu, continued

It's curious, he thinks, that he's spent so long preparing for the inevitable that when the inevitable comes, he wishes he never had. It's comforting to be proven right. The meteor hits the Starlight Theater, the infection takes hold, the world crumbles. That's how he always predicted it, anyway. But the world is not crumbling. At least, Hatchetfield certainly isn't. If anything, Hatchetfield is thriving with more life than Henry's ever seen. 

He watches from his window as people dance down the street with no regard for anything else. They're just existing in their own bubble. Alexa plays the news for him and it's all a normal day in his secure little area until the news anchors start singing headlines and he can't listen any longer. It's an idealistic little world they're all part of. 

Henry reviews the work he put into Working Boys. It isn't complete yet, but he has made spectacular progress in a year. He has the majority of the songs mapped out, he has dialogue, though some of it is kind of stiff, and he even has the synopsis written out in its entirety. Except for the ending. He hasn't chosen an ending yet. 

He steps back into the living room, sorting papers and reviewing notes. He takes a note of Ted and Emma, still cold and still in their chairs, hands secured. He didn't quite know what he was thinking when he drugged them, only that Emma and Ted had reached conclusions about the infection that needed to stay private. He almost feels stupid. He secured his house, he stockpiled food and other necessities in the event of the end of the world, he has been ready since he was twenty six years old. And he can't commit to the safety he worked so hard for.

He loves a little too hard. They're living a life that Henry had lost to his own fears, and they don't appear to have fears. It could be so freeing. They don't harm, they heal. They just know that the world has so much to offer, as long as it is reborn in the lively image they brought with them. Who knows what sort of things could be avoided if people were preoccupied with better things.

“Alexa,” he says, his voice not faltering, pushing his nerves back down. “Open the gates, turn off the fences, shut it all down.”

The very safety measures he built crumble around him until his home is laid bare to the world. Henry has always been a performer. If he wants so badly to belong, he will have to show them he means well. He's so sick of lonely, of long nights of not sleeping, frantic about the cameras in his clock and the creatures in the dark and the voices in his brain and the bumps on his arms. He's tired. Maybe he’ll get to be something better than this mess he's made himself into. 

“Hey, Henry.” says a voice that sounds far too familiar for it to be healthy. It interrupts his performance of Working Boys’ titular number, but something tells him this matters more.

“Greg. Is it really you?” Henry says. It's a soft, elated whisper, more to himself than anyone else. He's trying to convince himself this isn't just another hallucination. He might lose it if it is. 

“Hey boys.” comes the deeper voice. Henry nearly collapses as he pivots on his heel. 

“Stu! You haven't aged a day.” He pulls them into hugs they don't retreat from. He can barely think, but he feels like he doesn't have to. They don't want him to think, they want him to sing. So he sings his heart out, like nothing on the damned Earth matters anymore.

He's slumped in their arms, tired from all of the dancing. He kept himself active even at his age, but he can't help the toll an intense routine takes on his body, dancing the part meant for a man at least a decade or more younger than him. They hold him up, laughing with him.

“Surprised you didn't throw something out, Henry. Dancing around like that as a geriatric.” Greg teases, giving him a little punch to the gut. 

“You’re my age. You would know.” Henry laughs, and he feels like he's walking on air. “You don't understand how it feels to see you again. I have been pining for decades, wondering what might have happened to you.”

“We’re all here, Henry.” Stu says, pressing a hand to Henry’s stomach. It sets off alarm bells in Henry’s brain like the ones he gets when he shuts his eyes at night. “You can be here too. You called to us and we answered. Steve, Mark, Leighton, even Chad. They're with us too. Just say the word, Henry.”

“Yes,” Henry says, almost dreamily. He knows this is what he longed for. This is the peace he always craved. Perhaps it's been the cure he had been hunting for years. “Yes, make me one of you.”

And then the world that was soft, all music and dance and peace, is painted in red. Henry sees red. The stomach of his turtleneck is torn apart and then the claws meet his skin, pull it back like it was a pesky sticker. Greg and Stu are pulling his insides apart. The pain is blinding, like they want to keep him alive for this. Henry screams, writhes, shakes, and he cannot help himself as Greg bites into his guts. It feels like absolutely nothing when his heart comes out, because everything just shuts down, and he hits the floor, unable to process the bright blue that approaches his bloody, open mouth. 

When he comes to, he feels nothing. He feels like he's been asleep for months, but he’s still on the floor of his home and Greg and Stu are still above him. Nothing has changed. Henry opens his mouth and a nice steady note fills the silence. Greg and Stu harmonize with him. They all sound lovely together. 

He thinks of the show he wants to put on, and he hums Working Boys while Greg and Stu sing the words he didn't know they knew. But of course they knew. They always knew him. There was always one thousand eyes watching and one thousand ears listening. They wanted to hear him sing. He thinks he’s finally come up with an end to the show. Maybe the show never really has to end. 


End file.
